Hell
by Jess J
Summary: My first Freddy fic. I've got to be crazy to write a songfic about Fred Krueger, but I have. Angsty and dark for me, at least. Please r&r!


Author's note: Ok, I'm crazy to write a songfic for Fred Krueger, I know. But my muse doesn't care, so I wrote this at her insistence. It isn't quite like it was in my head, but I also had a fan vid in my mind for this song as well. Speaking of which, the song is "Mad World", by whoever performed it on the Donnie Darko soundtrack. I've never seen that movie, don't have the CD, but I heard the song somewhere and downloaded it. Now, this is my first time writing about Freddy, though I've been a fan for quite some time. I just recently saw 3, 4, and 6 for the first times, not to mentioned FvJ (excellent movie), but this was really inspired by the FvJ novel. Please, go easy on me since I've never written him before. Also, I don't really sympathize with Freddy, I think he's an evil, heartless bastard. But I still like him. It's just that my Nana's a court reporter and his backstory (in the novel) really got to me, cause she's in juvenile and she's told me cases very similar that were sickening and heartbreaking, so that also added to this I think. Wow, I've gone on way too long, sorry. Please review, I'm an addict!!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Freddy Krueger, his mother, wife, daughter, foster father, or any of his victims. Nor do I own the song, "Mad World". They belong to other people who are much wealthier than I. Please don't sue me.

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HELL 

A teenage boy walked down the sidewalk, watching the people and cars pass him by. All of them he knew, had seen before. Always running around. Like the people in his dreams.

But in the dreams, they ran from him, not life. They feared him, the way he had feared his foster father when he was younger. They fell at his hand, bloodied and bruised, as he had been many times when his "father" got through with him. He taunted them, like he had been taunted all his life.

These people, they just got up and went to work everyday, normal, happy. Loving. He hated them. He hated life. He hated the children, with their sane, loving mothers, mothers who kept them. But they didn't make sure they did no evil, did they?

No, they let their children get away with murder it seemed.

But it didn't matter. They would pay in the end. Stuck in their boring little boxes they would be forced to call life. He would too, and he hated it.

__

All around me are familiar faces

Worn out places, worn out faces

Bright and early for their daily races 

Going nowhere, going nowhere

The young man entered a bar, desperate to forget. He felt sick. He felt disgusted. He felt guilty.

He felt excited. And eager for more. Which made the last shreds of humanity in him feel worse.

He had killed. No, he had mutilated. His victim hadn't even been eight, barely over seven. A pretty little girl who would have grown up to be beautiful and have kids with a handsome young man. Or she would have been homely, married to a drunk like his foster mother had been. But she would never be either, she was dead.

He had mutilated her.

Like he had done to himself, like he might do to himself tonight.

Drown himself in beer and then in blood once more.

__

Their tears are filling up their glasses 

No expression, no expression 

Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow 

No tomorrow, no tomorrow 

He screamed, pounding his fists in his door. He had to get out, had to get away. His father would beat him again soon, he couldn't take it. He beat the door until his knuckles were bloody and broken, the skin torn badly, exposing some red flesh. 

Defeated, he sank to the floor. He was tired and broken, his body numb. It was better this way, he didn't feel it when the leather strap whipped at his skin and caused welts on his back and blood to drip to the floor.

The boy was to small to fight yet, but one day he would. He would fight back, and he would win.

Until then, he had his dreams. He died in his dreams, he was free in them, he escaped forever. Then he woke, only to find himself alive and force to go to school.

__

And I find it kind of funny 

I find it kind of sad 

The dreams in which I'm dying 

Are the best I've ever had 

I find it hard to tell you 

I find it hard to take 

When people run in circles 

It's a very, very Mad World 

It's a very, very Mad World 

School again. He was so fed up with school, with the constant taunts and jeers, of being known only as "the son of a hundred maniacs". He had endured this for his whole life, every thirteen years of his life. He knew that they probably called him that at the orphanage when he was a baby, bitches that ran that place! Just like his mother, the whole frigging cause of his problems. His life, his existence.

He stared ahead as he slowly walked into school, careful to avoid contact. His back ached and burned, his ribs hurt, his legs were weak. But he would not break, not in front of them. Not in front of his "father".

He remembered the dreams he'd been having. The ones where he was in control, he dispensed the "medicine", the pain. He could still smell the blood, hear the screams. He still felt the rush, the pounding through his body as he ruled over his dark domain. He wanted that again.

In his dreams, he was king. Judge, jury, and executioner. In his dreams, he taunted and whipped. He inflicted pain and did not feel it.

He smelled their fear and it was intoxicating.

But now he was back in reality, back in class, having to sit in those seats with their high backs that dug into his wounds.

__

Children waiting for the day they feel good 

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday 

And I feel the way that every child should 

Sit and listen, sit and listen 

He watched the teacher as he droned on and on about some stupid buffoon that said some stupid thing about some stupid president. They had already gone over this lesson several times, but it seemed that nobody cared.

Maybe he should become a teacher, that would be interesting. Freddy's School of Pain. Had a nice ring to it.

If he tried to say anything, he only received a glare and a beating when he got home for "causing trouble at school and making the principal call home." He simply yawned and stared at his hands. They were growing stronger. Soon he would fight back, soon he would be free.

__

Went to school and I was very nervous 

No one knew me, no one knew me 

Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson 

Look right through me, look right through me 

Fred "Freddy" Krueger yelled out in rage as he woke. He was met only by darkness. The darkness he was sick of, was trapped in. The darkness that was merely his little corner of Hell. Always, he ended up back in the darkness. Back in Hell.

The dream demons were getting pissed with his failures. But Fred was pissed with them. They weren't helping things. They were supposed to give him powers, but they never kicked in when he needed them it seemed.

Stupid beasts.

He growled and stood up, pacing on darkness that served as floor. All around, darkness. Sometimes he could travel, like when he searched for Jason, but that was only on rare occasions.

Right now though, he was stuck in Hell with no way out it seemed. But he'd find one. He always did. He had to.

Because in Hell, Fred Krueger slept. And when Fred Krueger actually slept, he dreamed. Not just any dreams, but memories.

Memories of a mother who had helped to defeat him a few times. A wife he only tried to love but never had succeeded. A daughter he had loved in his own twisted, warped way, but she was taken away and turned against him. Of a foster father who had taught him to appreciate pain and fear for all they were worth. Memories of death, time and time again. Humiliation. Enemies and victims.

Haunting memories that were his torture, his punishment, his Hell. But he never gave Hell what it seemed to want. He never felt remorse. He never felt guilt.

He was dead, yet he was eternal. And in Hell.

Wasn't that payment enough?

__

And I find it kind of funny 

I find it kind of sad 

The dreams in which I'm dying 

Are the best I've ever had 

I find it hard to tell you 

I find it hard to take 

When people run in circles 

It's a very, very Mad World 

It's a very, very Mad World 


End file.
